Wagon Down By Donigarten
by NuttyNuggets
Summary: The story takes place in Menzoberranzan. There are no RAS or EC characters in it, but you might recognize the general plot from a Saturday Night Live skit :) I enjoyed writing this a lot.


Sanguiness walked the meandering roads of the Manyfolk district, where more iblith than drow resided. Her house was on the edge of this notoriously poor area, but it was one of the better kept homes.   
She ran her hand through her hair and sighed through clenched teeth. Normally she was in her best mood after getting off work, but she couldn't let go of her anger this time. She sorted and catalogued merchandise for a common but comfortably wealthy merchant who had a permanent stall in the Bazaar. Recently a male rivvil bartered for some blank parchment and ink that he may replenish his own stock of magic scrolls. More drow were gaining access to surface magic so that mages may accompany warriors on raids to the surface, so such traffickers were tolerated, inferior their power may be. She began to retrieve the supplies to load his cart, but he basically ignored her presence, instead addressing her coworker, a male, and basically ignoring her presence! She wasn't stupid. She knew why. Human society was patriarchal, which she supposed was to be expected from such a backwards race.   
A goblin urchin, likely one of the captives from a recently routed goblin tribe that was too useless to sell, rounded a corner nearby, and flinched when he saw her. She thought about killing him to placate herself, but he quickly backpedaled and wormed his way through a hole in the stone wall. It was too small for her to follow, and he wasn't worth the trouble to hunt down. She had two sons at home anyway. Phah! Almost every day they did something to earn a swift backhand! Males too blessed with talent were always cursing their mothers with their unruliness. She wondered why Loth ever allowed it. Sharnel might make a decent soldier in one of the Houses someday if he wasn't killed for his sticky fingers. She had forbid him to enter the Bazaar on pain of death. Demmon, fortunately, was usually too busy studying after his occasional lessons with his uncle to cause trouble, but when he did, he had the power to do much more damage. She would never forget the shame, the horror, of seeing him enrage a high priestess, though the female hadn't known it was Demmon.  
One of the noble daughters had decided to take her entourage and put her prestige and wealth on display in front of the common masses. Most everyone there was expected to kneel as she passed, of course, and they did, but Demmon had to be a fool. It was a simple cantrip, a minor illusion that gave the appearance of a giant tongue licking the priestess from behind. Gasps from her accompanying soldiers alerted her to the problem, and she flew into a rage befitting one of Loth's higher servants. No one was allowed to leave the Bazaar for two hours while she personally examined each merchant, each customer, to see if she could pinpoint the guilty caster. On those who wore mage robes, she enacted her ability as a cleric to detect lies while she thoroughly questioned them. It was their obvious poverty that saved Demmon's and Sanguiness' lives. The noble placed a cursory glance on them before moving on. It was extremely rare for a drow of his station to have access to mage lessons. Not only that, he had the amazing ability to adopt a blank senseless look so convincing strangers had to wonder if the boy could even produce feary fire. She remembered the silent trip home after the incident, Demmon casting nervous and furtive glances at his mother to see what this would cost him. She waited to get home so she wouldn't have to drag his unconscious body back with her. He hadn't been able to rise from bed in a week. She spent the rest of that night begging Loth's forgiveness through prayer, not just for his action, but because a small part of her enjoyed seeing one of those arrogant and petty nobles humbled.   
Sanguiness was almost at her door, and ready to smack the first child she came upon. But when she entered, she saw only her mate, Traig. His somber expression froze her in her tracks. "What? What is it?" she asked, feeling cold dread well up in her. He raised his hand, and in his palm, was a few pinches of weed rolled in paper. "I found it in your sons' room as I went to retrieve a dagger Sharnel took from me." She picked it up, confused. Of all the idiot things they could involve themselves in, this was the last thing she expected, though at least they didn't have anyone coming after them... unless Sharnel stole it.   
Well, she was going to beat them anyway. But she paused and thought for a moment. Perhaps in this case, another tactic should be used. She had heard of someone who could straighten out such problems for a mere copper, given a few minutes to talk with the offenders. Oh, she could kill them, of course. It happened every day, and third sons were ritualistically slain at birth. But she had already invested two decades in their upbringing, and if she tried hard enough, they could become something she could take much pride in. It would be a waste, and Sanguiness thought killing them would be like giving up. She was too stubborn to quit something she started. "Are they here now?" she demanded. "I sent Sharnel on an errand before getting my dagger, and Demmon will be here in an hour from his lesson," he replied. "Good. When they get back, make sure they don't go anywhere else, and have them wait in the living room." Traig nodded, and asked "Would you like for me to dig out the switch?" "No, that won't be necessary. I will be back to fix this." She noticed the disappointment in Traig's eyes. Like most drow, he didn't like to receive beatings, but enjoyed watching, or preferably doling out the punishment himself, though he knew better than to usurp her authority. "I will be back with Marl Fo'Ley," she said.  
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One hour later  
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Sanguiness strode in, a satisfied smile on her face. Sharnel and Demmon were too smart to think this would bode well for them, however. Behind her was a drow male, dressed more pitifully than even they were, and with a ridiculously styled hair that was short on top and flowed long down the back. A tuft of the shorter strands stuck straight up.   
Sanguiness sat on one of the few chairs in the room while the male stood in front of her sons. "All right! How's everybody? Good, good. Now, as your mother probably told you, my name is Marl Fo'Ley, and I am a motivational speaker. Now let's get started by letting me give you a little scenario of what my life is all about. First off, I am 350 years old, I have been divorced numerous times mere days after being taken in by this or that female, and I live in a wagon down by Donigarten." Sharnel and Demmon exchanged confused glances. Marl continued. "Now you kids are probably saying to yourselves, 'hey, I'm gonna go out and gonna GET THE WORLD BY THE TAIL, and wrap it around and put it in my pocket.' Well, I'm here to tell you that you're probably going to find out as you go out there, that you're not going to amount to JACK IBLITH!!! You're going to end up eating a steady diet of shrieker 'shrooms and rat, and living in a wagon down by Donigarten!" Marl looks at Demmon. "Young one, what are you wanting to do with your life?" Demmon smiles, always willing to speak of his burgeoning ability, and says, "I would like to be a wizard, eventually becoming good enough to be accepted in House Shobolar, as my uncle was."   
"Well! La Di FREAKIN' Da! It looks like we got ourselves an archmage here! Hey, mother, I can't see very good, is that Gromph Beanre over there?" Sanguiness folds her arms over her chest and narrows her eyes. "Actually, Marl, I have encouraged him in this endeavor." Marl pauses, and turns back to Demmon. "Yes, well, I wonder. From what I've heard, you're using your scrolls not for spellcasting, but for rolling doobies! You're gonna be doing a lot of doobie rolling when you're living in a wagon down by Donigarten!" He turns to Sharnel. "Young boy, what do you want to do with your life?"  
"I want to live in a wagon down by Donigarten," he replied, deadpanned. "Well, you'll have plenty of time to live in a wagon down by Donigarten when.....YOU'RE LIVING IN A WAGON DOWN BY DONIGARTEN!" Marl screamed.   
"Now, you two are probably asking yourselves, 'Hey, Marl, what can we do to get back on the right track?'" he said, hitching up his sagging trousers. "Well, as I see it, there is only one solution, and that is for me to get my gear, move it on in here, because I'm gonna bunk with you, buddies! Old Marl's gonna be your shadow! Here's you, there's Marl, there you, here's..." At this point, Marl got a little worked up and, already tipsy from the drink he sometimes accepted as payment for services rendered, passed out, smashing the table in front of the stunned drow boys. Their mother was no less shocked, but acted immediately. "Quick, you!" she snapped at Traig. "Drag his carcass out of here, as far as you can get him from my house! I'll be damned if he sets foot here again!" Traig complied as she turned to her children. "Move the furniture in front of the door when he gets back. Block the door well, do you understand me?" They nodded. "Yes, ilhar. We are so sorry!" Demmon cried. "We'll never smoke again!" Sharnel added. Sanguiness nodded, thinking this might have been a good thing after all. "Good. Clean up this mess," she said as she went to retrieve the switch, her "whup-ass stick," Traig jokingly called it when she wasn't using it on him." They would do well to be prepared. Marl wasn't the stable sort, and who knew was he was capable of.  
THE END :)  
hehe. This was the Van Down By the River skit, with the Matt Foley character played by Chris Farley.  



End file.
